


Domesticity and Christmas

by PenShips



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: M/M, cute fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-27 08:46:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8395132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenShips/pseuds/PenShips
Summary: A fluffy piece with Mick and Leonard as they prepare for a Christmas dinner.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for a Coldwave challenge on tumblr a while back but decided to post it on a site that dedicated itself to fanfiction. Enjoy! :)

Christmas has always been a rough time for him; the cold weather, the lack of family and the nauseating joy in the atmosphere. He’d usually spent the holiday on his own, burning local Christmas trees in public places or drinking-usually doing both those things. Honestly, he’d never loved Christmas until he met Leonard. There’s something in the way his eyes light up with joy at the frost on the window, the way he watches Lisa open her present-a present he’ll be flippant about when she thanks him but Mick knows Len would have been painstakingly searching for it. Len lives for Christmas and Mick lives for Len. 

Clanging of pots and pans bring him out of his reveries and he cranes his head towards the kitchen to catch a glimpse of Lisa. Stretching on the couch, he ponders whether he should try and help. Both Snart siblings told him to stay far away from the kitchen and he is all too happy to oblige but he feels a little guilty having them do all the work. This Christmas dinner, they are going to be joined by guests-the Rogues no less-and Len wants everything to be perfect. Mick has a tendency to burn anything he tries to make and trying to help usually ends with Len kicking him out of the kitchen. 

He stands up, stretching again and makes a beeline for the noise, taking a backward glance at movie playing on the big screen television. When he reaches the kitchen, Lisa and Len are artful dodging each other to make their designated dishes and both stop when they sense his presence. Len shakes his head while a frown is already beginning to form on Lisa’s face. He doesn’t blame her. She’d never quite believed Len’s horror stories about Mick in the kitchen until she’d witnessed them first hand. Mick doesn’t think she’s quite forgiven him for searing off her eyebrows even to this day. 

‘No,’ she says, placing her chopping knife on the counter closest to her. ‘You’re not allowed in this kitchen.’

'She’s right, Mick,’ Len agrees. 'I will not serve the Rogues sandwiches because someone burnt the turkey.’ 

Raising his hands up, he takes a step back. 'I didn’t expect to be attacked like this,’ he scowls, good-naturedly. Their concern is valid, he’ll give them that. 

'If you want to do something, set the table.’

Lisa hums approvingly. 'Yes, set the table. That’s easy and non-flammable.’

'Anything is flammable if you try hard enough,’ Mick replies with a smile and quickly realises this is the wrong thing to say when Lisa glares. He shrugs. 'It was a joke.’

'Not funny, Mick,’ Len says though a smile graces his lips.

He flashes one back at Len and cautiously steps into the kitchen. It’s in a complete state; pots and wares piled in the sink, the stove freshly stained with overflowing pots and bits of spillage. Everything’s chaos and Mick likes it. The heat alone is enough to make him feel welcome as it washes over his skin but he knows overstaying said welcome is not an option.

‘The good plates are at the top there,’ Lisa tells him her hands pointing to one of the top cupboards.

Mick opens the cupboard with ease-his height a real asset sometimes-and reaches up, bringing down what looks like incredibly expensive china plates; he wrinkles his nose at it. It always seems a little silly to spend so much money on the thing you’re going to eat the food off of but he shrugs inwardly. It’s not his party and this isn’t his home. Piling the plates and cutlery up, he careful makes his way to the dining room. He almost trips up halfway there; a red carpet lain in the hallway with a small upturned corner. Luckily, he stops the plates from tumbling down at the last minute and breathes a sigh of relief when he sets them on the table.

Arranging them is easy, he used to have to help set the table when it was Christmas at his uncle’s house. He never ate with the family though. It wasn’t so much that they would force him to spend Christmas in his room but the way they all looked at him, disgust and anger. In their heart of hearts they blamed him for the fire, they believed he’d killed his own family and how could Mick spend a holiday with people who branded him a murderer in their minds?

He sucks in air through his teeth and focuses on the task at hand. Those days are long gone and he’s tried to put it behind him. Plate there, knife here, fork goes there, spoon here. Mick repeats the pattern around the table and so engrossed in his work, he misses the figure in the doorway. That is until they clear their throat.

‘Wonderful job, Mick,’ Len drawls as he makes a beeline towards him.

‘You doubted me?’ 

There it is; Len’s self assured, cocky smirk that always makes his heart feel like it’s taking a swan dive off a ten storey building. ‘Never,’ he says, eyes flitting over the table. ‘It’s going to be perfect.’

Mick furrows his eyebrows, still a little perturbed by Len’s overzealous effort at Christmas this year. ‘I still don’t understand why we’re doing this,’ he says. ‘What’s the point?’

‘The point is we’re a family. The Rogues are our family and families get together at Christmas. It’s not going to be conventional but it works for us.’

He hums in agreement. It does work for them. Before Len, before the rogues, before any of this, Mick didn’t think he would ever find a place where he belonged. Every moment of his life, he’d been labelled as insane, a murderer, an arsonist and there were moments when Mick would find himself absorbing the names, fitting himself into the boxes. With the rogues, he’s so much more than his illness. They don’t judge him. If anything, they try to help him.

Len’s hand finds his, a comfort in a world that ridicules him. They’re freezing to touch but he warms them quickly with his body heat. He glances at his partner; eyes moving from those pink lips curved into a wicked smile to those wide expressive eyes, always alight with untold emotion and Mick can’t believe how lucky he is. Len’s not just his partner in crime, he keeps him grounded, he is the calm to his storm, they are thunder and lightning-never one without the other and they’ve made each other stronger. Before he can stop himself he leans down, mouth hovering over Len’s.

‘Merry Christmas,’ Len whispers before he closes the gap.

The kiss is languid, breathtakingly beautiful moans escape Len’s mouth as Mick wraps his arms around Len’s waist dragging him closer to his own body. He smells divine, all those seasonings infused into his clothing and it makes Mick chuckle inwardly-something about the idea of devouring Len when he smells so delicious. It is Len who finally stops their kiss. Mick’s certain it had the potential to turn into something else, his hands had already been itching to unwrap him like his very own Christmas present. They stand still in close proximity, foreheads resting against each other and breathing deeply. 

‘Dinner needs to be finished,’ Len breaks the silence first. ‘The Rogues will be here in an hour and Lisa and I need to start dessert.’

‘I know,’ he replies. Mick’s already made an internal promise to finish what they’d started later on but for now, he understands how much this Christmas dinner will mean to Len and he would never try to spoil that. ‘And I still need to set the table.’


End file.
